


In Arms

by sinemoras09



Category: Blood+
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemoras09/pseuds/sinemoras09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fall of a man and the one who destroyed him. One-sided Karl/Saya. Solomon narrates. Pre-series. Non-con. Angst. Warnings for character death. Spoilers for episode 37.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Arms

It was Karl's turn tonight, and Solomon watched, stomach-sick and worried as Diva roughly yanked back the collar of Karl's shirt, blood-hunger like lust coursing through her. His brother trembled; impatiently, Diva tore at his clothes, shoving him hard against the bed, not caring that the others were watching, James and Amshel and Nathan politely averting their eyes as their Queen began to feed.

"Diva." Karl gasped and Solomon couldn't look at him, couldn't watch the way he gasped her name like a prayer. "Diva."

In the murky half-dark, Diva looked young, almost child-like, gently suckling on his jugular as she rocked, pushing Karl down and lapping at the skin of his neck, the beads of blood slowly drying as the two puncture wounds began to heal. Solomon could feel Karl's devotion for her pulsing out from him like blood, but Diva stood, pushing herself upright and throwing her cloak over her shoulders.

"I don't like your blood," Diva said. Karl gripped the bedsheets, shaking. "You taste boring."

And Diva laughed. It was low and mirthless, the sound stretching over the whole of the room.

 

*****

 

When they created him, it had always been this way.

Solomon knew. Even as the others feigned ignorance and Amshel protested otherwise, Solomon knew Karl was never one of them; not really. From the corner of his eye, he could see how Karl watched them from a distance, sitting two tables over as the other chevaliers dined and laughed quietly amongst themselves, feeding Diva grapes and baring their necks to let her feed.

Solomon frowned. It was decadent, orgy-like, these men fawning over their goddess, but Diva was bored and rose, one slender hand tugging the lapel of James' shirt.

"Come," Diva said, and the room fell quiet. "Entertain me." The other men averted their eyes and Amshel delicately cleared his throat. James stood, tight-lipped and proper, as Diva smiled and swayed and lead him to her bedroom.

The door closed with a soft click. Moments later, Solomon could hear Diva moaning, could picture her mouth falling open in a succulent 'o'.

"Insatiable," Amshel said, and Nathan laughed, stretching luxuriously and shaking his head. "Diva just fed an hour ago."

"I take it she wasn't satisfied," Nathan said. He looked directly at Karl. "Perhaps our other brother will be what she's craving."

He could see the muscles of Karl's shoulders stiffen, and as the others smirked amongst themselves, obviously Karl couldn't satisfy her, the youngest one, who just moments earlier had been slammed up against the mattress and taken without so much as a preamble: Solomon could almost see how humiliation rose and burned at the back of Karl's throat, the sound of Diva's moans rising like waves.

"Do not take offense," Solomon said, quietly. He touched Karl's shoulder. "Diva has her moods. Just as one cannot feast on the same type of food, Diva cannot drink just one type of blood. Rest well, my friend," Solomon said. "Be proud that she chose you at all."

But Karl did not look at him. He yanked his shoulder back, as if Solomon's touch was a heated stone.

 

*****

 

Every Chevalier had a talent. Some had skin like steel that could withstand the harshest of assaults; others had perception so keen it was like reading minds.

Solomon had such a talent. While his brothers reveled in strength and glory and everything in-between, Solomon watched from afar, standing apart from the others and watching with quiet scrutiny.

The first few decades of Karl's new life were spent strapped to a gurney in a lab, the cold hum of fluorescent lights pouring over him. Solomon could imagine how it felt; each cut, each piece of himself laid bare on the cold metal table. Karl was a lab rat who wouldn't die, not when the wounds were too deep, not when the screams filled the room.

"It will make you stronger," Amshel said, and despite Solomon's protests he continued, scientific interest and Diva's love of torture driving the experiments forward.

He was covered in blood. Hanging from the straps on the wall, Karl slumped forward, the cuts on his skin slowly beginning to heal. His vision was hazy, but he could see Diva smiling and stepping forward, her small hands lightly touching his chest, before dipping close and running her tongue along the cuts in his skin.

Karl groaned. Diva lapped his blood slowly, tongue tracing the contour of his chest and smiling against the smear of blood.

"I want this one," Diva said, and the other chevaliers grew quiet. "Cut him down. I shall take him tonight."

Amshel frowned. "Diva-"

"I want him," Diva said, and she pouted, stamping her foot. "He tastes too good to waste."

The experiments stopped after that day, when he collapsed and staggered into Diva's arms.

 

*****

 

He was always a gentle boy. That's what Solomon would tell the others. Even after Karl's sanity slipped and the madness crept over his eyes, Solomon would remind them that Karl had been different from them, soft and unsure of his place in the world.

It was always like this. When he hugged her, Diva laughed. Cruel and mirthless and entertained. He would nuzzle his face in her hair and Diva would squirm and push back, angry and irritated when he tried to steal more than what was offered, tried to take some modicum of comfort when it wasn't there. "He's annoying," Diva said, and the other chevaliers would glance back at him, pity in their eyes because he didn't understand, he didn't know his place, runt of the litter and the least strong.

But Karl did understand; Solomon knew. He knew how Karl watched, acutely aware of his place outside the group, as the others flanked around Diva's side and caved to her every whim. People walked passed him as water flowed around a stone, and it was as if Karl was being swallowed up into the crowd, eyes narrowed and standing alone.

"I have a mission for you," Diva said, and Solomon could see Karl shiver despite himself, the warmth of her breath making gooseflesh on his delicate skin. "Nee-sama is bad and Nee-sama makes me unhappy. Kill her, if you'd like," and her lips curled up at the corners, tracing ghost trails on his skin. "It would please me ever so."

 

*****

 

Solomon followed him. He watched as Karl changed forms and took flight, each beat of his heavy wings lurching his body upwards. The air was thick that night, the low-lying clouds heavy with rain. Sending Karl after Saya was foolish; he was the youngest of all of them, weak and untested and yet sent to kill a Queen.

Mud and wet grass sank under Solomon's feet as he watched Karl begin his approach; he took human form once more, landing gracelessly on the muddy field.

He took the form of Saya's companion Haji; like the others, Karl was a talented shapeshifter, something which made Solomon unreasonably proud. Unbeknowst to Saya, Haji was otherwise occupied, fending off the three other chevaliers dispatched at Diva's whim. He watched with growing anticipation as Karl approached, ready to spring should Saya not be fooled.

She was standing at the cliffside, watching the slow roll of the ocean lap up against the craggy rocks below. Her sword was sheathed; the air moved gently around her waist and hair.

"It feels lonely, doesn't it?" Saya said, and Karl startled. She glanced upward, moonlight catching the side of her face. "I've always wondered what it would be like. Being there," Saya said, and Solomon squinted his eyes and could see the small figures of fishermen tying their nets off the coastline. "It looks so peaceful, doesn't it?"

Karl didn't answer. The wind blew her hair into her eyes and Saya moved to brush her hair back; she glanced up again, but this time the look on her face was one of concern.

"Haji?"

Karl stiffened. Solomon stood at attention as Saya moved closer, touching his arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Karl said, and Solomon knew he was caught off guard: she looked like Diva but didn't sound like her, didn't have the same cold blue eyes. Solomon could see it: every emotion, every flicker of self-doubt on his face.

"Haji," Saya said, and she took Karl's hand. "Haji," Saya said again, and she stepped closer, so close that she was only a finger's breadth away. "Why do you look so sad?"

"I'm not-" Karl closed his eyes but Saya lifted herself to his height, taking his head in her hands and touching her forehead against his. Solomon sucked his breath; Karl closed his eyes, shaking at her touch.

These were the moments Solomon remembered: a smile, a shy brush of the fingers; the slow, creeping blush at the sides of Saya's cheeks. The sweet, slow-blooming realization of love.

Except it wasn't love; it was an illusion, Karl cloaked in Haji's form, Haji's fingers tracing Saya's skin.

He didn't kill her like he was supposed to do; instead, he leaned forward, drinking in her scent and closing his eyes.

 

*****

 

"Useless!" Diva said.

Karl knelt before her, prostrate as she raged against him, the cuts on his skin healing even as she dealt him other blows. "Why is he a chevalier? He's not even worthy to lick my shoes!"

"Enough!" Amshel said. Diva pouted and flounced back on her chair, and Amshel roughly pulled Karl upright, stringy black hair falling over his face. "Damned china-man, you knew what you were supposed to do! Now her chevalier is back and now she knows, we've squandered our only chance!"

"Forgive me," Karl said. The other chevaliers glared and stood, blocking the light from the window and casting shadows on his prostrate form.

The line between love and hate was a delicate one, and Solomon watched with growing apprehension as Karl's mission gradually shifted into obsession. The days spent with Diva gave way to nights silently loitering the grounds where Saya patrolled. This is where Karl found peace, away from the cruel taunts that battered his psyche and made his loneliness feel all the more acute. Solomon watched, at turns transfixed and disgusted as Karl followed Saya, the one person who seemed to understand him, even as he had disguised himself as someone else.

Saya was asleep. Haji was away, ostensibly patrolling the common grounds and waiting quietly under the moon. Solomon knew he would be there if Saya were under any threat of danger, but Karl meant her no harm, and so it was Karl was able to slip into Saya's bedroom in the dead of night, presence dampened so much he was nearly invisible.

The curtains stirred; Saya's eyelids fluttered, but otherwise she gave no indication of being awake. Quietly, Karl knelt beside her and gently pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. His control was perfect; he did nothing when Saya turned and reflexively nudged her face against his palm.

"This is madness," Solomon said, and Karl turned, dark eyes probing his, silently. "Brother. You know I will always watch over you; however I cannot stand idly by while you do this. It is a trick of nature," he said but Karl ignored him, walking briskly down the hall. "She is our enemy and our bride. But she cannot love you," Solomon said. "Brother, please. She does not know who you really are."

"And just who am I, brother?" Karl's eyes flashed. "A chevalier made for the sake of casting aside. If Diva has no use for me, then maybe Saya will."

"Foolish," Solomon said again. Karl slammed the door.

 

*****

 

Decades passed. Days gave way to months then years and the thousand nights seemed to blend into something indistinguishable, until Solomon cannot remember a time when Karl was not somewhat unhinged, a time before his mind perilously tipped and slipped into an unrelenting madness; but what Solomon does remember is the night it all started to end.

The moon was a grim silver the night Karl came to Saya's bed. He had disguised himself as Haji again, and when he bent over to kiss her she did not stop him.

On the street below them, Solomon could not stop pacing. A carriage passed, the sounds of hoofs echoing down the empty streets. A dog barked in the distance, and around him there was no other sound except that of the wind blowing softly and the rustle of leaves.

But Solomon was a chevalier, and he could hear everything through the walls and up through the floorboards that creaked in the room above him; how Saya sighed and arched her back against him, how Karl moved and pressed his face against the crook of her neck, gripping her sides and pushing up inside her with thick, generous strokes.

"Haji," Saya said, and Karl gripped her tighter. "Haji, I-"

Solomon turned his head, trying to shut his mind away from the sound.

 

*****

 

Diva never loved them. It was a fact Solomon knew all too well. Her chevaliers were as disposable as the dolls she collected, impulsively pulling off their heads and gouging out their ceramic eyes.

 

*****

 

Moonlight filtered through the slats in the blinds, and Karl's body was draped over hers, boneless and breathless with the aftershock of release. Saya's eyes were closed, and slowly Karl began to trace the contours of her face with the pads of his fingers, the motes of peace that seemed to flicker on her features.

This is what it felt like: acceptance, the embrace of the one he loved.

Saya slept deeply as Karl nudged his face against the side of her neck, curling up into the spaces of her body and closing his eyes. He must have felt safe; Solomon understood this even before he saw the long strands of hair fall over Saya's pale skin, hair longer than Haji's and thinner, and saw him breathing as if he were asleep.

He couldn't stop them. Couldn't stop as Saya opened her eyes and saw the man who really slept with her.

Saya's eyes widened. Karl moved. "Wait-"

Saya screamed. Karl lurched forward, but Saya threw her hand out to her sword.

He moved. Flash-stepped forward and grapped Saya by the wrist, hands stretching into claws and that inhuman strength shoving Saya against the wall.

The sword clattered. Her bare feet slid against the damp wood, naked body shaking.

"Saya," Karl said. He touched her face. "Saya, please..."

"What do you want with me?" Saya said. She was shaking. A small cut bled just above her left breast, a thin trickle of blood smearing under Karl's claw.

"I love you," Karl said. "I love you because I know you. Because you know me," Karl said, and Saya closed her eyes.

"You are not Haji," Saya said. Her voice was thick in her mouth. "You're not."

"Saya-"

The knife came from nowhere, slammed into Karl's shoulder. Karl howled and Saya crashed onto the floor, scrambling for her sword.

"Wait!"

But the blade struck. Karl staggered back, the weight of Saya's blade impaling his side.

Karl stared. Saya gripped the handle of her sword tighter.

"You forgot," Karl said, and his voice was hoarse. "You forgot to add your blood."

Saya's eyes widened. Karl tore the sword out and leapt out into the air, transforming into his true self.

Solomon watched. Watched as Saya, naked and splattered with Karl's blood, dropped her sword and sank to her knees, falling just as the real Haji rushed into the room. She sobbed against the real Haji's chest, shoulders shaking but not telling him what happened, refusing to give name to the violation that Karl had just performed.

And Karl. Solomon stood, quiet in the shadowy moonlight, as Karl clawed at his eyes and began to cry.

xXx

.

"It can't be helped," Amshel said.

Solomon watched as Karl lifted his eyes to meet Amshel's, who stood over him like a knowing father would, nodding and mouthing useless platitudes. "You are biologically driven to fall in love with her. She is our bride," he said, and Karl shoved past all of them, the taunts and the whispers battering him at all sides.

 

*****

 

"Of course she wouldn't love you," Diva said, and her eyes glittered cruelly. "Who could love something as pathetic as you?"

Then something in her eyes changed. She stepped forward, gripping the collar of Karl's shirt and shoving his shoulders against the wall. "I don't like sharing my things," she said. Solomon moved but Amshel held him back. "I don't like sharing my things at all."

That night, Solomon hunched over his desk, writing by the light of the candle. He wrote and another scream shattered the stillness, inhuman and agonized, the sound of a man being torn in two.

 

*****

 

"We gave him more of Diva's blood," Amshel said. Solomon opened his eyes as Amshel and James stood over him, shadows falling on the pile of papers still strewn on his desk. "He almost died, Solomon. A chevalier," and there was a touch of awe in Amshel's voice, as if quietly admiring what their queen could do. "He would not have survived if Diva did not let him feed. He was reborn," Amshel said, and Nathan laughed, shaking his head at the injustice of it all.

Solomon found him crouching against the wall of the cell, arms shackled and covered with filth. His hair hung in stringy pieces over his face, and as Solomon stepped closer, he could see the change in Karl's eyes.

"Karl," Solomon said, and he knelt beside him, lifting a hand to Karl's face. Karl flinched visibly. Solomon's jaw tightened; he moved the hair out from Karl's eyes.

If this were a better world, Saya would have rescued him. Solomon could almost imagine it; Saya kneeling beside him now, gathering his body close to her chest and murmuring softly into his hair.

"Love is pain, is it not, brother?" Karl said, and Solomon looked up, the filthy half-light falling on Karl's face. "I loved her as I've hurt her. Just as our sweet Diva has loved me..."

"Karl," Solomon said, but Karl shook his head, slowly, eyes unfocused and trained dutifully on the floor.

"Saya," Karl said. "Our beautiful bride."

And something inside Solomon twisted, because suddenly everything felt too wrong.

 

*****

 

Madness was like this: the darting of the eyes, the twitchy, maniacal way of moving, like a man whose bones were made of brittle crystal.

"Now I understand," Karl said, and Solomon didn't like the way he started to speak, with long-drawn syllables and a throaty acceptance of who he finally was. "Love and hate are the same, aren't they, brother? Just as my sweet Saya hated me..."

That night, Solomon found him sitting at the bank of the river, cradling a young girl against his chest. Her hair was dark like Saya's was; her small face fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. It was only when Solomon stepped closer that he saw the two deep puncture wounds at the side of the girl's neck, the blue rose tucked carefully at the pocket of the girl's breast.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Karl stroked the dead girl's cheeks, smoothing her shirt front and stroking her hair. "She's beautiful as my Saya is beautiful. More beautiful than death," he said, and Solomon yanked him upright.

"Idiot. What if someone caught you?" Solomon said, but Karl laughed, slow and deep and rolling out of him like fog.

"He's broken," James said, and they watched in awe as Karl moved obscenely with the bodies of his freshest kills. "Diva's blood has made him mad. I barely recognize him anymore."

"Neither do I," Solomon said. His eyes narrowed as Karl fed luxuriously on the girl, draining her completely and leaving her corpse to fall like a rotted husk.

And then something inside him would twist: Solomon could see it, the edges of pain crowding at the corners of his eyes.

"Is it not what we do, brother?" Karl asked, and he laughed again, a stilted, terrible, broken sound.

 

*****

 

Madness was like this: the smell of sulfur suffusing every breath, the humid air thick with smoke and orange explosions bouncing off low-lying clouds.

Karl laughed, launching in the air, monstrous and bouyant, his powers growing tenfold in the fray. Below them, Saya roared, eyes blood-red and sword slashing through her enemies and comrades alike.

"Beautiful!" Karl said, and Solomon watched, horrified, as Karl swept forward, batlike wings beating with the thrum of his heart. "Come! Saya! Join me once and for all!"

And Saya howled, blood dripping down her hands and the hilt of her sword.

 

*****

 

There was another memory Solomon could not shake; the night before the end, before that night in Vietnam and before the time that Karl's sanity slipped away.

Saya was asleep. Gently, Karl had shifted her weight, moving to press into the hollows of her body. Slowly he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, soft mouth rubbing against her skin. She moved, and with her eyes still closed she pressed a soft kiss against Karl's forehead, the weight of Karl's body lulling her to sleep in the dark.

"He was lonely," Solomon said, years later, as an amnesiac Saya clung to her sword and tried to understand, after Karl had died and crumbled like so much dust.

"Lonely," Saya repeated, and she sheathed her sword, turning. "Only the weak are lonely."

"Perhaps," Solomon said, and watched as his brother's remains scattered on the ground.

 

__

_Tomorrow we will only give them_  
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf  
which will fall on the earth  
like if it had been made by our lips  
like a kiss which falls  
from our invincible heights  
to show the fire and the tenderness  
of a true love.

_Fin._


End file.
